


Scars

by Merixcil



Series: Whumptober 2019 [15]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, War, allusions to corporal punishment, pre sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:27:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25668931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merixcil/pseuds/Merixcil
Summary: An interlude in the lead up to the end of all things
Relationships: Merry Brandybuck/Éowyn
Series: Whumptober 2019 [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1838356
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Scars

She has scars like the Elven spun tapestries that decorate the halls of Rivendell, delicate and fine, meandering into rich seams of silver that tell tales of battles lost and won a hundred times over. 

“Training.” Eowyn laughs. “Nothing so fanciful, little hobbit.”

But Merry can already see her, sat atop her horse and charging, blade pointed towards the weak spot on a dragon’s belly (he grew up with Bilbo’s stories the same as every child in Hobitton, he’s always known how to slay a dragon). She would seize victory from the maw of the beast and tumble to the ground, clutching at whatever injury she acquired for her troubles and grinning with delight. 

She smiles so wide and so long, it might melt his heart. 

Outside, the Rohirim camp swirls and scurries with a mess of men ready to ride to death and glory, and they have to be careful not to forget themselves. Merry’s hands pull at the straps and buckles of the armour Eowyn wears, then at the threads of her shirt underneath. Her skin bares itself in increments he wasn’t meant to see, that he’s not meant to touch. 

Except he is her squire, and as far as the rest of the camp is concerned, he must serve his rider in the run up to the fight of their lives. 

Merry pauses, his hand brushing along the small of her back, wondering if he dare remove her britches. “Even this one?” 

There is a line of spider silk beaten into her skin, so fine you would miss it if you weren’t looking. His thumb stops at her hip, where it tapers off entirely, imagining what sort of training blade to deal a blow so delicate and so bold. 

She turns under his hand, her breasts bared and at just the right height that he has to fight to keep his eyes from landing on places inappropriate for him to so much as see in the first place. 

“We do not have time to tell the story of each scar.”

“Then just tell me the story of that one.” 

She pauses, her hand slipping under his chin and holding him with all the adoration that a mother shows for a child. But Merry is older than her, and he already has a mother. Before he can think not to, he’s unstringing her britches, convincing himself as he goes that his only motive is to see a soldier of Rohan attended to effectively. 

If he were to tell this story at the Dancing Dragon, he’d be thrown out by the end of the first line for being too lewd. 

“Steady, Merry.” She murmurs, moving them both back towards the bedroll in the corner. 

“Will I have training scars, when you’re done with me?” Merry asks, breathless, wondering if she would like to see the mark on his arm from straying too close to the blacksmith’s kiln or the welt on the back of his left thigh from a schoolboy’s thrashing gone too far. Then without a thought, his tongue is on the spot above her left breast that looks like the tip of a dagger and he wishes she’d tell him how it came to be. 

Eowyn stills, grabbing him by the back of the head and forcing him to look at at her. Merry’s heart dances a jig against his ribcage, sure that he has misunderstood his place in the world and waiting to be scolded for his crimes. 

“Scars should be the least of your concern.” She tells him. “In a week's time, we may both be dead.”

“And what if we aren’t done with each other?”

All questions for the future should be answered once there is a future in which to live them. Eowyn kisses him then, with the fire and fury of a woman who could slay a dragon, and the night dissolves into pieces Merry doesn’t quite want to put back together.

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally posted as part of a multi chaptered 'whumptober' fic that I'm trying to split up. If you think you've read it before, you probably have
> 
> Comments on the previous posting of this fic (just ask if you want me to remove yours) include:
> 
> >Drynae: I have such love for Merry/Eowyn stories! Too bad it is not a popular couple!  
> >I loved this, I wish it could have gone on forever.I would have liked to have the stories of her scars too ;)  
> >>Merixcil: I'm so pleased you found this! Yes, I love these two together and I think the soldier/squire dynamic is so good and I can't believe more people aren't into it.  
> >>I might not tell the tale of every scar, but I do hope I can write more for these two in future


End file.
